


Hurry Up And Weight

by Mirrorshot (CalWeirdy)



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Captivity, Force-Feeding, Is that a thing, Megatron is strapped to a chair and that's basically all I got you guys, Self-Indulgent, Stuffing, Weight Gain, gift-fic, overloads from overfeeding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-27
Updated: 2016-02-24
Packaged: 2018-05-16 15:32:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5831026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CalWeirdy/pseuds/Mirrorshot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Megatron finds himself at the mercy of an unknown mech who has been ordered to keep Megatron out of commission. Permanently.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In Which Megatron Finds Himself Trapped

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Reddle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reddle/gifts).



> Lord this is the first thing that I have written in 2395029 years. It was supposed to be short but it looks like that isn't happening at all. This is a gift for Reddle for her birthday so congrats on getting a year older. Here's some self indulgent stuffing fic.
> 
> This chapter is mostly just set up. The dirty, dirty sin comes later.

Megatron woke with a start and he wasn't sure if his optics were offline or if it was just that dark wherever he was. A quick check to his systems found him relatively unharmed (save for a few minor injuries), but according to his chronometer, he was missing a few days.

The missing days were the most concerning thing. The last thing he remembered was traveling to scope out a potential mine. Soundwave had said that the readings were off the charts, and Megatron had wanted to see it for himself. Then a blinding light when he had landed at the site. Then... well... nothing.

Even though he couldn't see, he tried to at least take stock of his surroundings.He didn't get very far, but he could tell that he was in a chair of sorts. Based on the tingling in his limbs, he was in low grade stasis cuffs. Enough to keep him in the chair, but not enough for him to be completely unable to move. He could tug lightly at the restraints, but his movements were sluggish and poorly controlled.

The rest of the room was much too dark for him to make out anything.

Panic hadn't set in yet. More like annoyance. Incredible annoyance.

At least Megatron wasn't left alone in the dark for long. A single spotlight snapped on above him, highlighting him in a perfectly round halo. He would have laughed at the theatrics of it, if not for the sudden thunk from above him startling him out of his thoughts.

A long tube came down from the ceiling and stopped right at Megatron's face, a spout on the end that he would only just have to lean over in order to get his mouth around it. A single drop of energon collected at the tip. Megatron went cross eyed looking at it, and he shook himself, not wanting to look undignified in front of his captors.

Not trusting the energon on the end, Megatron just waited (and tried not to go cross eyed again). He wasn't about to give whoever had kidnapped him the satisfaction of hearing him scream and shout and struggle. He would wait for an opening, then take it.

There was a pop from a speaker somewhere in the dark and Megatron heard an unfamiliar mech's voice, "Lord Megatron, so glad you could join us." They said, tone almost a purr, "I have been paid quite a bit of money to put you out of commission."

That caused tension to snap up Megatron's spine, but the only indication of his stress was a brightening of his optics. He kept staring forward, dentae clenching, jaw creaking from the strain.

"Don't worry. I'm not about to kill you. I'm merely going to make you unable to fight. You'll be let go eventually. _If_ you cooperate." The mech chuckled, and Megatron felt his energy flare with anger despite how tightly he was trying to control himself, "The chair you're on is weighted. As in it's measuring your weight. You can see that I've so generously provided you with energon. In a few moments, the flow will start."

Another chuckle, "You can choose to eat or no, but crusted on energon will become uncomfortable very quickly. And we'll only clean you up after you start consuming. The goal, ultimately, is to get you heavy enough that you activate the weighted mechanisms in that chair and shut off your bindings. When that happens-"

A door, only about ten yards away, opened to reveal a hall. Well lit, empty. Nothing distinguished about the features to clue Megatron into where he was.

"This door will open and you will be free to go."

The speaker clicked off, and Megatron felt a cold trickle of dread go straight to his spark. What sort of sick game was this?? He had never heard of this sort of torture. Force feeding a mech? Tanks only held so much, and he had never heard of a mech's weight increasing from eating. Organics, maybe. But Megatron never paid attention to those, let alone their biology.

He didn't get much time to think because there was three beeps from above him. And then the energon was flowing.

Whatever energon the mech was giving him wasn't like normal energon. It oozed out of the feeding tube like syrup, thick and goopy. Absolutely revolting by Megatron's standards and he immediately turned his nose up at it. There was no way he was going to play into this game.

When the first drops of warm energon oozed onto his abdominal plates, he actually hissed in displeasure. The texture against his body was about as pleasant as it looked. Which just made his tanks churn. A quick check of his fuel levels told him that he was at about 15%. Hungry, but not red lining yet. So, he just let the energon hit him and drip onto the floor, head turned to the side. It was disgusting. Megatron counted the minutes, concentrating on the darkness outside his circle of light. It was nearly a half hour until there were three more beeps and the flow slowed to a stop.

The energon had spilled onto his abdominal plates, oozed over his thighs and between them and down to the floor. As it cooled it got even firmer and felt sticky and itchy as it seeped under his plates and hit his protoform. Unpleasant, to say the least, but not completely unbearable.

He could outlast whoever his captor was. They had to visit him at some point and he would conserve his energy until then. He wasn't going to play into this sick game.

 

\---

 

Megatron lasted, by his count, three days. Past red-line levels in his tank. Past his tertiary systems shutting down, then his secondary. Warnings popped up on his HUD and went ignored. 1.0% flashed on his tank levels. Though there was only one feeding a day, the thick energon collected and had slid beyond the halo of light. He itched, he was miserable. But he kept his expression calm. Stoic.

His captor didn't talk to him again. There was no activity except for the three beeps to signal when the cursed energon would start to flow and stop. He refused to recharge. There was no way he would give the other mech a chance to attack while his guard was down.

Megatron, by the end of the third day, found himself grateful for the long days spent alone in the mines. It had at least given him patience of a sort. Alone with his own thoughts was how he functioned much of his life. Though, with such low fuel levels he couldn't concentrate. His systems were in survival mode and his thoughts were sluggish and couldn't quite form. Abstract ideas floated through his mind, refusing to take shape. He couldn't formulate a plan in this state. The only plus was that the feeling of the old fuel on his body, and the itching involved, had faded into the background. His processors just couldn’t muster the energy to be bothered by it.

So, when he heard three beeps on the fourth day, he resigned himself to consuming fuel. If only because he needed to be sharp enough to take on his kidnapper when they finally showed themselves. These kinds of mechs always liked to gloat. They always showed up. (He would know.)

It was hard to move even the little bit that he had to in order to lean forward. Between the thick, congealed energon on his body, the stasis cuffs, and how weak he was, it actually took him enough time that the energon had already started to drip onto his plates to add to the mess already there.

When the energon hit his glossa, it was as thick as he imagined **,** and a sickly sort of sweet. Despite the taste, his systems pinged instantly, alerting him to the fact that he was tasting fuel, and instinct took over. Megatron waited for a decent mouthful before actually letting it go down his intake, trying not to gag. The first swallow was like instant relief. A surge of energy went through him, weak, but enough that he let the next mouthful pour into his mouth for him to swallow with a sense of urgency that he hadn’t felt since he had first woken up in this damned room.

Megatron told himself he would only consume enough fuel to get him back up to full power. But his body had a different idea. It was like a switch had been flipped and his survival instincts had overridden his initial goal. Megatron was all too aware how undignified he probably looked, lips wrapped around a tube, optics dimmed as he sucked down whatever energon was offered to him. Warmth filled his tanks, easing the ache that had started since his waking here. Even though he knew that he could function at about a 50% level, he couldn’t seem to pull away from the too sweet, rich energon flow.

It almost felt like too soon when the three beeps sounded and the flow went to a trickle, then stopped altogether. Though according to Megatron’s systems, it had gone for the full half hour.

Like being snapped out of a trance, as Megatron’s systems started up, he became more aware of himself. The sticky, itchy feeling returned where it had been just an annoying background. His plates just felt tight around his middle, like his protoform was pressing out. Though he couldn’t see through the energon that had gathered on him.

His HUD was blinking at him. A notification he had never seen before.

[Tanks 126%]

That shocked him. He couldn’t have possibly consumed that much! Though, based on the incredibly _tight_ feeling around his belly, it wasn’t too far from the truth.

The overfull feeling was also making him sleepy. The entire opposite of what he had wanted from consuming fuel in the first place. His systems were pinging him from recharge and he had to keep aborting the request. Eventually, the stress from days prior on his systems won out and he felt himself shutting down despite himself.

 

\---

 

Megatron woke with a start. The room was dark for the first time since he had entered it. His captor was probably trying to be considerate of his recharge cycle, the fragger. What had woken Megatron didn’t register until he heard a soft whirring. Then a _crawling_ on his plates.

When he looked down, it was too dark to see, but he saw little yellow optics. At least three pairs, one of them sitting right where his thigh was. When Megatron _shouted_ in alarm, the strange mechs scattered, beeping in very basic binary. They ended up just a few feet from him, three pairs of optics staring at him in the dark.

As if on cue, the lights snapped on, and Megatron was bathed in light once more. The pool of energon on the floor that had formed over the course of the feedings was gone-- to his surprise-- and he got a good look at his intruders.

Tiny little cleaning bots were huddled together at the edge of the light, staring at him. They were small, almost insect like with little antennae and scrubbers for mouths.No paint job, except numbers on their helms. Megatron made a quick mental note. Not sentient, just little drones with basic enough programming to stay out of harm’s way. The battle protocols that had activated and gotten his spark racing calmed down, though he was still on edge. These tiny things weren’t exactly a threat to him. In the chair, he wasn’t much of a threat to them either.

A quick inventory also showed him that they had been working to clean up not only the energon on the floor, but the energon on him as well. They had gotten up his legs and to his thighs before he had woken up. The disgusting, congealed mess on his torso still remained, but based on how one of the creatures was inching forward, it wasn’t going to be the case for long.

They hadn’t hurt him while he was unconscious. If they were just cleaning him, he could tolerate it. Especially because the energon under his plating was driving him up a wall.

Sure enough, when he finally relaxed a little, just eyeing the cleaning drones with a stern expression, all three hurried over to clean up the energon on his stomach and chest. Mostly, it tickled. He kept a straight face, staring them down as they worked to break up and consume the energon. They even blasted out his seams and under his plates with water and air to make sure he was clean. By the time that they scurried away, Megatron felt better than he had in days.

Checking his systems, he found his tanks at a little below 110%. He still felt… bloated. Though glancing down, he found nothing amiss with his plating. Just a little pressure against it from his belly. The energon had seemed to settle with a pleasant warmth, making him feel heavy through his entire frame.

According to his chronometer, only a few hours had past, but he felt fully recharged despite the fact. Apparently his systems were using the energon he had consumed in an incredibly efficient way. It was so rich that not only had it patched his minor injuries, but he was burning through it slowly enough that he could easily go another few days without having to consume fuel again. That bought him plenty of time to formulate an escape, and he wouldn’t be red lining while he tried to do it.

The smug thought crossed his mind that his captor had made the mistake of giving him such a high quality, nutrient dense energon. A test of his stasis cuffs though had him growling. They were still sapping his ability to use his full strength, despite the rich fuel he had consumed.

That was frustrating, but not earth shattering. He still had time. And based on his calculations, he still had several hours before the next feeding. It gave him time.

Though after about three hours, Megatron hadn’t gotten much aside from the fact that if he needed to do anything, he needed to get out of the stasis cuffs. Energon sure wouldn’t short them. He had been covered in the stuff before and that had done nothing for him. Struggling didn’t work, they weakened him too much in order to be able to do any real damage. Despite how nutrient dense the energon he had consumed was, it didn’t do much for his strength

At the six hour mark, Megatron wasn’t further along in his plans. Again. Frustrating. Though his frustration was being punctuated by weird notifications on his HUD and a sort of growling in his tanks. Everything was telling him that he was _hungry_ , but his tanks were also telling him that he was at 87%. It was impossible that he was _hungry_. Sure enough, though, his tanks were growling at him and he was starting to feel irritable.

The only explanation that Megatron could come up with was the fuel itself. Whatever was in that energon was messing with his systems and he didn’t appreciate it.

That just solidified his decision not to consume more. No matter what his HUD or body said, he had plenty of fuel. He didn’t need it.


	2. In Which Megatron Finds Himself In Trouble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Megatron tries to make plans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wowee. Second chapter.
> 
> I'm writing faster than I thought I would be, so I'm hoping I won't lose steam. I work a full time job and we're being thrown into overtime because work is picking up, so hopefully I won't get too burnt out from that to write.
> 
> Anyway, enjoy.
> 
> PS: Totally skimmed this once before posting so if you see any glaring errors, please let me know.

As it turned out, it was a lot harder said than done to ignore the gnawing that had started in Megatron’s tanks. His HUD was blinking insistently, telling him that he needed to refuel even though his tanks were at 75%. It was like the moment that his tanks went below 100, his systems couldn’t handle it.

Unfortunately, that meant that Megatron’s concentration was shot. Any time he actually managed to come up with some semblance of a plan, his tanks interrupted his thoughts with loud, angry gurgling. It was impossible to think. Everything but his processors were under the impression that it was time to eat. He almost didn’t notice the three beeps from above while he was stewing in his own rage and frustration.

Megatron did, however, notice the warm drip of energon that hit his chest and the painful cramping in his tanks when the sticky sweet scent hit his nose.

“Smelt me…” He groaned, turning his face away, vents opening up to expel hot air as he tried to ignore what was happening. Megatron’s HUD was flashing at him, telling him that there was energon nearby that he could safely consume (ha). The disgusting, itchy feeling was returning as the energon oozed over his plates. That was second, however, to the way his tanks were aching.

Megatron was a mech who believed he had incredible self control. He had gone years at half full and he had resisted countless temptations.But this was testing him. It was different when he could throw himself into his work and distract himself. But all there was in this damned room was him, his desperate tanks, and the energon that was flowing all over the place. The energon that right now, his body wanted nothing more than to gorge itself on to fill the perceived void in his belly.

To his credit, he was able to resist for a little while. He refused to check his chronometer because the humiliation of giving in was too much. The energon hadn’t even had a chance to slide down to his thighs yet when he wrapped his lips around the leaking nozzle.

The first taste was instant relief. Like his tanks and systems were rewarding him for satisfying that intense craving. The fuel was still too sweet. Much too sweet. But Megatron swallowed it down and relished the way that it slid down his intake to fill his tanks (and hated himself for it all the while). Instead of passively letting the fuel flow into his mouth, he actively sucked at the tube. It didn’t much do anything for the speed of the flow, but his mouth filled faster so he could feed faster. He wasn’t paying attention to his tanks, though. Just in filling the horrible ache that had started as soon as his levels went below 100.

In the back of his mind, Megatron knew he was in trouble. He knew he was in trouble the moment he gave into his craving. When he chose his own physical comfort over his safety.

This feeding, he felt the tightness in his tanks before the flow ran out. But somehow he couldn’t actually muster up the will to pull away from the sweet fuel and instead tried his damnedest to ignore it. The biggest concern in his mind at the moment was having that painful emptiness return if he didn’t finish the energon in its entirety. Though once the three beeps sounded and he had sucked the last of the sweet fuel from the tube, the world came crashing down once more.

Megatron felt even worse than he had after the first feeding. His plating was much, much too tight now around his belly. There was a noticeable warping when he looked down too. His protoform was pressing against the armor, causing it to bow outward. The sight filled him with such acute humiliation the he had to look away, instead focusing on a spot in the dark beyond the light.

His HUD was blinking at him and he almost refused to check it. But when he did, he hissed through his vents.

[Tanks 167%]

It had to be a mistake. Maybe his systems were on the fritz from the strange energon and the reading was incorrect. But no, based on the too full feeling from his belly and the warped plating, he had, in fact, gone fifty percent over his capacity and beyond. Megatron had never heard of a mech doing so. Sure, there were the times when, in the midst of starvation, mechs would binge on energon when it was available, but usually that just brought them only a little over capacity.

Megatron hated the feeling. He had never felt like his armor had been too tight, and it was unfamiliar. His armor was pressing back against his protoform despite the warping, the the pressure was hot and unpleasant.

The words of the mech who had spoken to him over the speaker cut through his processors like a blade.

_ “The goal, ultimately, is to get you heavy enough…” _

There was no way that he was heavy enough at the moment. If he was, the door would have opened. He would have been free, if the mech could be trusted. Maybe this was just torture. The games of a depraved mech who got their jollies by force feeding others until their tanks burst.

At  _ that _ thought, Megatron shuddered. He would refuse the next feeding. He had to. There was no way that his tanks could handle much more than what was already in them. He wasn’t sure they could handle what was in them  _ now _ . Based on the tight, almost painful pressure, they felt ready to burst any second. The way his plating was cutting into his belly didn’t help either. One slip up in his resolve didn’t mean he couldn’t refuse next time. If anything, it would make it easier to say no tomorrow.

He told himself this, at least. He wasn’t sure if he believed himself. Planning was one thing, executing was another. The craving had been so intense that he hadn’t been able to stop himself this time. Maybe if he concentrated on that fact that his tanks might explode.

Megatron sighed and he laid his head back as best he could in the chair. At least it wasn’t uncomfortable. In fact, now that he thought about it, his captor had put him in something absolutely  _ plush _ . The seat supported his back and there was a cushion that molded to his aft. The only issue with the damn thing were the stasis cuffs. A quick tug yielded the same results as the last thousand times, so Megatron just stared up at the light until spots swam in his optics.

He was feeling drowsy again. Which could have been from the fuel itself, or just the warm, full feeling in his tanks. Either way, he didn’t  _ want _ to recharge. He needed to think, not sleep.

 

\---

 

Megatron woke up several hours later. He had even slept through being cleaned up, it seemed, as he took stock of his surroundings. His plates were clean and nothing else had changed about the room he was in. He was still cuffed, he was still trapped, and he was definitely still overfull.

[Tanks 134%]

At least the number had gone down. Megatron was about where he had been at the end of the first feeding. His plating didn’t seem to be bowed anymore, but his belly still pressed up against his armor.

A plus, he told himself, was that he might be able to skip the next feeding if he was still above 100 by the time it rolled around. Megatron was hoping that the intense hunger only reared it’s ugly head when his tanks dropped below full. Because, he reasoned, somehow with this fuel in his system it read as any empty space in his tanks as hunger. Strange, but logical. Shockwave would be proud.

When his thoughts trailed off to Shockwave, he had to wonder if they were looking for him. Starscream had no doubt attempted to take over. Whether or not he succeeded was a different question, but in Megatron’s absence, he would definitely try. And if Starscream  _ had _ taken over, Megatron was probably declared dead in front of the entire army. Not that it would stop his more loyal officers from looking.

Soundwave. Soundwave was brilliant. Surely he would intercept something. If not Soundwave, maybe Shockwave. Shockwave would also be able to analyze the energon that Megatron had consumed to see exactly how dangerous it was, and how it had harmed his systems. Maybe, just maybe, they were looking for him now. Maybe they were closing in on his captor and were going to break down the door that Megatron knew was right in front of him, hiding in the dark.

He must really be getting desperate if he was hoping for another mech to rescue him, but this situation was like no other he had been in before. Everything was pretty straight forward with what he did. He left underhanded tactics to Starscream, and prefered to fight his enemies head on. Face to face. 

It was really hard to fight a mech face to face, though, when one was chained to a chair, in a room alone in the dark.

Megatron would have found the situation comical if not for the fact that he was dead in the middle of it.

Sighing, he slumped a little and tried to think of something else. Anything else to take his mind off the fact that he would probably need another mech to rescue him. That thought wounded his pride too much, and he wouldn’t stand for it. Instead, he turned his focus to the fact that, whoever his captor was, they hadn’t harmed him. At least not physically. In fact, the energon he was being fed seemed to have improved several of his tertiary functions, as well as healed his minor injuries. Now if only it also didn’t warp his perception of what being full meant.

Honestly, that was the most concerning thing about it. Megatron didn’t  _ like _ having his perception on anything changed. He didn’t like the fact that whatever was happening in his systems was causing  _ something _ in his programming to change.  _ That _ was worrisome.

Megatron had plenty of time to mull that one over. Like some sort of sick, well wound clock, the three beeps sounded many hours later, exactly a day after the last feeding.

Though this time, Megatron didn’t feel that horrible, empty aching. A read of his HUD told him that his tanks were at around 115%, and if he theory proved true, he could probably make it to the next feeding without much discomfort.

With new resolve, Megatron shut his mouth tight and offlined his optics so he didn’t have to watch the sticky ooze come out of the tube in front of him. The first few warm drops did startle him because he couldn’t see, but then it was just a matter of waiting out the full half hour for the flow to stop. By this point, Megatron knew what to expect. The itching returned. The discomfort definitely returned, but it was a little victory.

It was a lot easier to resist without the craving. And Megatron could rest easy knowing that he, at least, had avoided bursting his tanks this time around. If he could just clean slate it by having a low number to start with, he would be fine. Megatron was anything if a survivor.

 

\---

  
  


During the next day, Megatron was truly patting himself on the back. He shut off some less important functions to burn less fuel and managed to be at only 99% by the time the full day was up.

Sure enough, his cravings started up the moment that his tanks went from completely full to having a little room. But now that he knew for sure that was how it worked, he knew it would be bearable. There was some math involved, but he was confident that he would be able to keep himself at a certain level after each feeding and only be just under 100 by the time the next rolled around. It wasn’t like he was doing any sort of physical activity to burn off what he consumed anyway. Only his basic functions needed to be fueled, everything else could take a back seat for now.

The hope was that his captor would give up and see him face to face. That’s all that Megatron needed. A way to get the upper hand. Then everything would be over. He kept telling himself that, up until his chronometer told him the next feeding would be. Everything was planned out in his head.

Then a minute ticked by without the sound from above to signal that the energon flow would start. A nervous sort of crawling started along Megatron’s spine but he figured that either his internal clock was off or the mech might just be late hitting whatever button he hit up in his high tower.

But then two minutes went by. Then five. Then ten.

Megatron’s HUD signaled the acute stress from starvation on his systems. The groaning, gurgling cramping was taking up all his focus. Everything, from his tanks to his processors, was telling him he needed to eat. Warnings started to pop up in his vision and he quickly cleared them.

By the time a whole thirty minutes came and went, Megatron realized one thing.

The feeding wasn’t happening today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the next chapter should definitely pick up more. We'll even be seeing some more of the scientist in chapter 3 if all goes according to plan.


	3. In Which Megatron Finds the Odds Weighted Against Him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it's my birthday. Or it was five hours ago. Yay.
> 
> But anyway, this chapter is a bit short, but I hope y'all enjoy. Megatron's very miserable.
> 
> Again: I glanced over this one as well (at 5am) and it wasn't beta'd, so please point out any glaring errors. If anyone would like to volunteer to beta, hmu.

Three feedings.

That’s how long Megatron went without fuel.

The first missed feeding was painful. He spent the entire day with his tanks cramping and gurgling, demanding to be fed energon that wasn’t available. Even at his hungriest, Megatron was never this miserable. He could remember countless days where he fought in the pits with less fuel than this in his systems and the strain he felt then didn’t even compare.

By day two, he was running hot. Not for any reason other than the pain in his systems. A dull ache in his processors had started at around 60% and only gotten worse from there. Megatron had stopped paying attention to his chronometer halfway through the day. He couldn’t stand seeing the seconds tick by, each slower than the next. Could time slow down? He actually wasn’t sure. All he knew was that this was worse than being in the mines. Worse than sitting in a cell.

Day three was nothing short of torture. Condensation was forming all over his armor and dripping down his plating from the sheer strain on his systems. He didn’t even notice. All his power was taken up in distracting himself from the feeling of echoing emptiness that had resided inside his belly. His tanks were near 20%. In an effort to distract himself, he focused on the number. Whenever it ticked down, another wave of pain went through him, but it was grounding enough. Anything to keep himself from growing mad from the gnawing need.

At this point, he would have done anything to get fuel. Anything. He would have gotten on his hands and knees and begged, if he could. If the mech had demanded his loyalty, even pride wouldn’t get in the way. This was the most effective torture. Slowly draining every last bit of control that Megatron had over his own will.

A drip of condensation slid over his brow ridges, into his optic, blurring his vision. He tried to rasp something out, but his vocalizer wasn’t working properly. Everything was glitching and snapping in his systems. Megatron was pretty sure that if he was shown mercy and fed, he wouldn’t skip another feeding again. Anything to avoid this happening again.

There was a pop from above and Megatron’s head shot up, feeling light-headed, vision swimming. The familiar voice from before spoke up, sounding tinny and unnatural through the speakers.

“Well are you going to cooperate?” They asked, sounding almost  _ annoyed _ , “You’ve put me in quite a bind, refusing your fuel. So much wasted. I hope that you’ve learned your lesson at this point. I’m sure it’s become  _ quite _ painful.”

Megatron ground his dentae together, jaw squeaking, but he couldn’t argue. There was the chance that his captor wouldn’t provide him with fuel if he did. The fact that his captor was even speaking to him meant that there was a chance the feedings would resume. Risking displeasing them meant risking further starvation.

“I’m feeling kind, so I’m going to start your feedings again. Just know that every time you refuse a feeding, I’ll bump the time that you go without up by one day.” The mech was practically cooing into their mic, Megatron could hear it, “So next time, it’ll be four days. Then five… then… six.” A little cough, “I’m sure you could maybe make it seven days, but why risk it? I have provided you plenty of fuel. You should be grateful and  _ drink it _ .”

Megatron’s spark sank and he opened his mouth, just for a second, to say something. Anything, really.But then it snapped closed because he didn’t trust himself. Not with this.  This mech would end up starving him out if he continued to refuse feedings. There was no way to escape unless someone broke him out, or he played the game. He spat steam, condensation dripping into his eyes and over his lips. A single droplet slid down his thigh and he tried his best to ignore it as it tickled his sensors.

“So if you want to survive, and I’m sure you do, you’ll drink your fuel. You continue eating and I won’t cut it off. Deal?”

The mech didn’t wait for an answer, and the speaker cut off with a near deafening pop.

Megatron wasn’t left waiting in silence for long, however. Because even as his audios rang from the sound of the speaker, he heard the three beeps from above. It was the best sound Megatron had ever heard, that he could remember. He didn’t even bother trying to rein himself in or wait for the flow to reach the opening of the tube. His mouth was around the feeding nozzle before he could really think about it. The only thing going through his mind was that he had to refuel, and it was finally available to him.

He was pretty sure a moan left him when the first of the fuel hit his glossa. Gone was the revulsion at how sweet it was. It was the best tasting fuel he ever had - thick and warm as it slid down his intake when he swallowed.

When the first mouthful hit his aching, empty tanks, a wave of relief went through his systems. But it wasn’t nearly enough. That gaping, awful feeling didn’t go away with the first few gulps. Megatron was actively drinking down the fuel, a little escaping out the corner of his mouth as he worked to fill his tanks as fast as possible. The thought crossed his mind to lick up what was dribbling down his chin, but that meant pulling away from the steady flow from above.

Like before, Megatron wasn’t paying a lick of attention to his tanks. All he cared about was getting full enough to relieve the emptiness. His hands flexed against the armrests of the chair, squeezing into fists and then relaxing again as he tugged at his bindings. Not to escape, no, but to grab ahold of the feeding tube to get it closer so he didn’t have to lean forward to eat.

Mouthful after mouthful, Megatron gulped down the energon, optics dimmed. Primus help him, he actually  _ enjoyed _ the warm, full feeling that was starting in his tanks. He could feel his protoform swelling outward, pushing against his armor. A quick glance to his tanks told him that he had gone beyond 100, but he didn’t make note of the exact number.

A little notification from his chronometer did catch his attention, though he didn’t stop feeding. The usual half hour had passed him by, and the fuel showed no sign of letting up. It didn’t bother him as much as he thought it would. If the mech was trying to make up for lost time in whatever sick scheme they had cooked up, let them. Megatron didn’t want to chance pulling away in case it would result in another period of starvation.

There was a creak from his armor. Megatron couldn’t see beyond the tube in his face, but there was a very  _ tight _ feeling in his plates. His belly had grown beyond what his armor could hold, and was now splitting the seams, showing the soft purple of protoform. He groaned, letting his mouth fill until his cheeks bulged out before swallowing again. This was too much for any mech, even one of his size. Surely his tanks would burst.

Though right when he thought he could handle no more, the beeps sounded again and the flow slowed to a stop. 

According to his internal clock, forty-five minutes had gone by. Just fifteen minutes longer than the previous feedings. Nothing too severe. Megatron was sure that he would be fine. Mustering up the courage to do so, Megatron checked his tank level. 

[Tanks 196%]

He sucked in air through his vents. That didn’t seem possible. But as he leaned back (sucking up what little energon was left in the tube without truly thinking about it), he could see the damage done to his body.

His armor was split, protoform showing, belly rounded out considerably in front of him. It felt hot and heavy, almost like it weighed him down where he sat, pressing against the seams of his armor. If he were actually able to touch it, he imagined it would be quite firm, full of energon. A physical reminder of his gluttony and desperation. Though despite the size, and the light discomfort of being so full, he felt… good. There were no other words for it. A sense of contentment flooded Megatron’s systems like he had never felt before. Like being rewarded for doing something good. 

Which was most certainly a problem because this sort of thing shouldn’t feel  _ good.  _ It was probably the tainted energon. It had to be. Megatron felt sluggish and sleepy. His belly was hopelessly tight, over capacity. Beyond that. He was almost at double capacity and he doubted that he could take more than that. 

_ You thought that at 160 _ , a wicked little voice in the back of his processors taunted. Megatron chose to ignore it. No use listening to his inner demons at a time like this. It would get him nowhere.

There was a low grinding noise from his tanks as they struggled to start processing the sheer amount of energon in them. A small warning popped up on his HUD about his systems being stalled, but he pointedly ignored it, dismissing it without reading it fully. He was tired. Exhausted even, despite the fact that he hadn’t done anything for Primus knows how long except eat and sit in a chair.

As he felt himself drifting off into recharge, he completely missed the update in the corner of his vision.

[Tank capacity at maximum. Recalibration accepted.]

 

\---

 

The scientist had watched this all from his observation booth above the room, long claws drumming against the control panel in front of him. Impossibly large optics shuttered a few times before he made note of Megatron’s vitals before he fell into recharge. Everything seemed to be going fine. Despite starving him out, Megatron seemed to be healthy, aside from a few minor changes in his systems. Though he was going to get hell from his superior officer about starving Megatron for three days.

_ This cannot hurt him _ .

The orders were very, very clear. While he tended not to answer to anyone, the scientist knew when not to argue with a mech the size of his captain. Especially when he was told  _ who _ exactly made this request. And exactly how much money he was making off of it.

Scoffing, the scientist pushed back from the window, his many legs clacking on the floor as he walked over to the comm unit on the other side of the observation booth. Before actually making the call, he gave one last check to Megatron’s vitals -- to make sure he was truly in recharge -- before hitting the button to activate the cleaning drones. There was a mess that needed to be attended to, after all.    
Once that was done, he merely punched in the number to the command deck, not even waiting for a greeting. As soon as he heard the mech on the other end pick up, he spoke, voice soft and tone amused, “Captain, please inform our benefactor that his prisoner is ready for visitors.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOLY SHIT WAS THAT PLOT YOU SPOTTED?
> 
> Yes. Yes it was.


	4. In Which Megatron Gets a Visitor (But Not To His Knowledge)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit. I'm so sorry about the delay in posting this. It's the longest chapter yet (just shy of 4k words).
> 
> It is mostly exposition. There is very little Megatron in this chapter and for that I apologize. I tried to establish more of a setting and a little more plot. Plus a little more of a bare bones explanation of what's going on with Megs.
> 
> Thank you so, so much for all the comments and I love seeing your theories and stuff.
> 
> Last warning: I didn't proofread this at all. I will probably do that at a later date when I have time, but I wanted to get this out to y'all more than anything since you're all so great. Any glaring errors, please point them out to me lol

The Hades III was an impossibly large ship that was surprisingly difficult to find. One would think that a ship that could hold a thousand plus mechs would be simple enough to locate, but no. The Hades III was constantly moving through space, avoiding all areas of conflict if it could, staying out of the spotlight. Even it’s black coloring with reflective windows made it blend in with the endless abyss around it.

Currently, it had its golden solar sails unfurled near a dying star, recharging its engine and the energon supply on board. The location was strategic for numerous reasons. One, their shields were effective enough that it could withstand the radiation from the star while absorbing it all into their sails for optimum performance (or so said their scientists). Two, that same radiation scrambled any sort of guidance and detection systems which meant that one would have to look for its silhouette against the bloody red from the star.

The giant ship got its name, apparently, because it was the third in a series of ships named Hades. According to rumors, the first Hades had been a Decepticon supply ship that had been  _ accidentally _ taken over by the current captain and his friend. Its crew grew to about twenty members of mixed factions. And staying true to the origin, most of the crew joined by  _ accident _ . That had lasted about a century before being  _ accidentally _ crashed on a planet that just happened to be inhabited by another species who not only hated mechs, but used them for slave labor.

The second Hades was a ship stolen from that species, and suddenly ( _ accidentally _ ), the crew was two-hundred fifty strong. 

After that, the accounts of how the Hades III came to be in the hands of the current captain varied from dramatic fights with pirates to diplomatic solutions. Either way, dozens of little accidents later found the current captain, Audiojack, standing in wait for the first visitor to the Hades III since picking up a most unfortunate warlord several weeks prior.

Audiojack was a mech fit for a ship so large. Before the war, he had been one of the rescue tanks to dig miners out of cave ins. When there was no cave in, he functioned as a drill. As his frame was meant to house mechs for rescue, he was the biggest mech that most had ever seen. And if his stature didn’t frighten, the chipped and worn Decepticon shield on his chest probably would.

Everything else about him was horribly average. Faded brown paint and caution stripes he never got rid of adorned his plates. He had been deweaponized, of course -- for weapons weren’t allowed on his ship -- and where a large cannon (that used to be a drill) had sat on his shoulder, there was merely the skeleton of its base. The jacks used to leverage rock and rubble still remained on his arms and legs, painted with reflective paint that glinted in the dim lights of the hangar.

Really the only thing truly remarkable about his appearance was his helm, which held a great crest of many cables that ran out of a main comb and fell halfway down his back. The only bit of customization that he had added to himself over the years that he felt like keeping.

One could almost miss the little mech standing in his shadow. A bike-framed courier who filled the room with his field almost as much as Audiojack did with his being. Next to Audiojack, he was particularly stunning. A handsome mech who carried himself with the pride of a soldier. His light blue paintjob gleamed and was well polished, along with the Autobot badge on his chest. Long antennae adorned his helm, used for picking up radio transmission. His body was all sleek curves, built for not only speed but for weaving easily in and out between larger mechs. Wide hips and thighs were full of hidden compartments that were used once for holding packages, and during the war, supplies and other secrets.

Delta Gambit was co-captain. Or first mate, depending on who you asked. Really he was the one that kept Audiojack from making stupid decisions. He was an accidental addition to the crew, having been freed from the planet where Hades II had been stolen from. But now, over a million years later, he stood beside Audiojack as his conjunx endura and advisor.

And right now, he really wished he had advised Audiojack better.

“He’s late.” Delta Gambit said, hands behind his back.

“We are a little bit hard to find.” Audiojack answered, voice a low rumble that seemed to be heard from  _ inside _ one’s helm instead of through the audios. An adaptation that worked well through nearly a mile of rock to reach miners, but unsettling outside of the shafts.

“Yes, but we gave him coordinates. And he’s coming alone. Something could have happened.” 

“You worry too much, Del.” Audiojack chuckled and he reached down, rubbing along the fragile antennae on Delta Gambit’s helm with two fingers. That just got him a scoff and a slap to his hand.

“Yes, well… You’d expect the leader of the Autobots to be punctual.” Delta Gambit looked up at Audiojack, which was rather like looking up at the ceiling, just a smidge lower.

“I think with the amount he’s paying us, he can afford to be late. Besides, you’d think you’d be more excited with meeting your leader.”

“I'm not an Autobot anymore.”

“I believe I remember this conversation in reverse when we managed to get Megatron on board.” Audiojack arched an optic ridge at Delta Gabit, yellow optics twinkling in amusement. It earned him another scoff, though before Delta could actually say anything the control panel in the hangar started to blink as they received a request to be boarded.

Delta Gambit scanned the arriving ship and then punched the button that opened the hangar up. Like the jaws of a great beast, the hangar doors opened and folded away, allowing the single shuttle entrance. It was small, meant for a single mech, which boded well for the passenger. The crew and captains of the Hades III were wary of strangers, even famous ones, and wouldn’t hesitate to jettison any extra intruders when only one was expected.

As the shuttle landed, both Audiojack and Delta Gambit straightened their backs and waited patiently for the doors to open.

Oftentimes, meeting a legend was a disappointment. So many stories fell together to create a fiction that was much less than the reality. Legends became little more than ideas that were tossed around to inspire troops that never met their leaders. Propaganda put mechs on pedestals and war hardened perspective. The actual mechs behind the legends became faded ghosts, crushed under the weight that was their legacy.  So when Optimus Prime emerged from his shuttle, it was no different.

He carried himself well enough, but there was a certain downturn to his posture, a slouching of the shoulders and a faded quality to his paint that just made him look  _ tired _ . However, there was no mistaking the mech. Though if Optimus was expecting much fanfare -- which he truly wasn’t -- there wasn’t any.

He was on a neutral ship. He held no power here.

“Optimus Prime!” Audiojack held his arms out in greeting, palms turned upward to show a lack of weapons, “It’s a pleasure. I trust it wasn’t too hard to find us.”

The low, penetrating quality of Audiojack’s voice startled Optimus, but only for a moment. His only reaction was a brief brightening of his optics before he outstretched his hands as well, palms up, resting them in Audiojack’s much larger ones before pulling away, “You were difficult to find, but the coordinates you provided were very helpful. Thank you for having me.”

“You’ll have to forgive us for not inviting you sooner.” Delta Gambit said, drawing Optimus’ attention down, “We had to be sure that Megatron would adhere to the program that our scientist created for him.”

The  _ program _ was still a mystery to Optimus, but he didn’t ask too many questions. His initial interactions with the crew of the Hades III were met with nothing but suspicion and hostility. It was amazing that they even agreed to work with him in the first place. Not that Optimus would expect anything less from a crew that seemed hell bent on avoiding the war and all that related to it.

“That said, he’s expecting us.” Delta Gambit gestured for them to start walking, and the doors out of the hangar opened automatically for them as they stepped out into a chamber of sorts.

It was well lit, several signs posted with written directions to different parts of the ship. A great, central elevator sat in the middle, as well as about a dozen doors leading off the main room. Several screens posted around showed news clips and other programs, including what looked like a rerun of an old drama. A few mechs walked through, glancing only briefly at the three before heading on their way. They had already been informed of the guest in their midst and had better things to do than gawk at him.

Audiojack pressed the call button on the elevator and stepped back to wait, “Before we enter the lab, I gotta warn you.” He flashed Optimus a smile, showing off sharp dentae, “Zephyr doesn’t like it when you stare.”

 

\---

 

The trip to the lab was a bit of a walk. The Hades III, for all its size and technology, was not well organized. Areas popped up as they were needed and whole parts of the ship weren’t even used by the crew and barely explored. The main room of the ship was an exceptionally chaotic thoroughfare that housed a market. It was like being in a bustling city again, and with the building-like structures to either side of the strip, it could almost be considered one.

A few mechs stopped to whisper or stare at Optimus, but for the most part, the small group was ignored.

As they ventured deeper into the belly of the ship, it became darker and less inhabited. Until, finally, there were no mechs at all. Optimus was glad for the escort because even though he had been paying attention, he didn’t think he would be able to find his way back through the twists and turns.

Audiojack had been talking the entire time, giving a running commentary about the ship that was only occasionally broken up by comments from Delta Gambit. It was almost like Optimus wasn’t even there. However, somehow, Optimus didn’t exactly mind the treatment. For once he wasn’t asked to give a speech or explain his reasoning. He was just kind of along for the ride.

They ended at a pair of doors with a strange sort of camera over them. It was white, a segmented arm attaching it to the wall, the actual lense a sort of sphere shape. It almost looked like an optic, with the way that it focused and followed the movements of Audiojack as he input a code on the door. They snapped open with only a soft hiss, and all three stepped into the lab.

The lab itself looked like any lab that Optimus had seen. Instruments he didn’t know the names of were littered across dozens of work tables, half finished projects sitting abandoned for the time being. Shelves were lined with even more projects, finished, unfinished and completely broken. There were even some organic  _ things _ encased in glass jars along one shelving unit, including what looked like the head of some creature that still seemed to be watching them with empty black eyes.

The owner of the lab was nowhere to be seen. At least for the moment as Audiojack strolled through, seemingly avoiding looking at anything as he spoke.

“Megatron’s a floor below us, in what used to be a test chamber.” He explained, glancing around like he was afraid something would jump out and attack them. Optimus thought he saw something in the corner of his vision, but when he turned to look, there was just a little offline drone on one of the tables.

“And it’s completely secure?” Optimus checked. Because the Autobots had managed to capture Megatron before. It had never ended well for either side.

“Completely.” Delta Gambit seemed to be the only one not bothered by the room, and he walked with his hands behind his back, chin held high. They were headed for an observation booth of sorts, encased completely in tinted glass with windows into a dark room on the opposite end, “But we’ll let Zephyr explain the entire process.”

Though if Zephyr was going to show their face, they didn’t. Not even when the three were in the observation booth. Optimus peered curiously into the darkness on the other end of the glass, but was unable to see anything inside. It was probably done on purpose, though he could only speculate why. If he understood scientists in the least, they tended to like to work alone, so there was little need to black-out an entire room.

Optimus thought he would be left wondering but the sound of a group of mechs walking across the metal floors of the lab got his attention.

“I thought you said that there was only one scientist on this-” Optimus didn’t finish his sentence as he turned to meet what he thought was the team of mechs that were currently entering the booth.

What met his optics instead, was one of the strangest mechs he had ever seen.

Their optics took up nearly half their face and were covered with a sort of rounded protective goggle that further magnified them. It made them look rather bug-like, along with a pair of pincers near their mouth that seemed to double as a mask. Two long, sharp adornments to the mech’s helm ended in a wicked point at the back of their head, and in a glass casing - much to Optimus’ alarm - was the mech’s processor, lighting up as he thought, plain as day.

Optimus was so preoccupied taking in the appearance of the mech’s face that he nearly missed their body. But he was jogged back to reality as the mech approached him and that multiple-mech clacking started up again. A quick glance to the mech’s body revealed that they had not one, not two, but four pairs of legs branching off an elongated thorax and tapered to the end at a wicked point. The mech also had two sets of arms, but one was merely vestigial, attached on their abdominal plating and currently holding a datapad. 

“Optimus Prime.” It wasn’t a question, and when the mech spoke, their pincers wiggled.

Optimus was suddenly painfully aware that he had been staring, and Audiojack and Delta Gambit were watching him with mild amusement. Zephyr had this effect on people. 

“Yes.” Optimus quietly reset his vocalizer, holding his hands out in greeting. They weren’t taken, so he just let his arms fall to his side, trying to make the motion look as natural as possible, “I trust you’re Zephyr?”

After staring him down for a few seconds, Zephyr nodded and walked to the control panel in the observation booth, “I am Zephyr.” They repeated, pressing a few buttons, “Have my captains explained any of the process to you?”

Delta Gambit was smiling, “We figured you’d want to explain.” He leaned against one of the consoles in the room and Audiojack nodded in agreement. This was, of course, mostly because they didn’t understand half of what Zephyr was doing and just skimmed their reports because they were nigh impossible to decipher. The entirety of the process was probably in there somewhere, but neither Audiojack or Delta were willing to figure it out. 

Zephyr didn’t seem to be bothered by the comment. They didn’t seem to be pleased by it either.

“Obviously we managed to get our hands on a warlord.” Zephyr said, gesturing to the black expanse in front of them, “He’s in there.” They swiped their hand in front of the glass window and the darkness faded away, revealing a room below them with a single light illuminating a familiar mech sitting in a chair.

Optimus took a step forward to peek down. Megatron appeared to be in recharge, optics offline, chin on his chest. He appeared unharmed, clean. Both of which were agreements to the deal he had worked out with Audiojack. Though the alarming thing was that Megatron’s abdominal plating was completely swollen. His belly was large enough that it touched his thighs where he sat, the armor split open to reveal dark purple protoform. Upon further inspection, Optimus saw that there was a slight thickening all over Megatron’s frame. Not enough to split any seams, but enough that overall, Megatron looked bulkier.

“What have you been doing to him?” Optimus wondered, never having seen a physical change like this before. Behind him, Audiojack and Delta Gambit shared a look between them.

“Simple.” Zephyr clicked their pincers together and they tapped a glowing pink button on the dashboard in front of the window, “You request we take Megatron out of commission, but cannot hurt him or alter his processors. Debated different approaches, decided to use the simplest one.”

Optimus really wasn’t sure how the changes to Megatron were  _ simple _ . He had heard of organics gaining weight, but as far as he knew, mechs weren’t capable. And he wasn’t exactly sure how that would manage to stop a war.

Sensing the question, Zephyr laughed softly and they clicked again, “I am a chemist. In order to survive before the war I was a cook.” They leveled Optimus with a stare, letting the job title click before continuing, “And when I joined the Hades, we had issues with mechs who had damaged tanks from prolonged starvation and they didn’t realize when they were hungry. Working with a medic, I designed a formula that was not only nutrient dense, but would activate their hunger processes as well.”

“And it worked quite well.” Delta Gambit spoke up from where he and Audiojack were leaning against the wall, “I was one of the mechs who used it.”

“Yes. Though it wasn’t fully tested and it turned out that in high doses, it was exceptionally addictive. Too much and you would be craving it before your tanks were even empty.” Zephyr shrugged, “So we merely cut it with normal energon. However, after an unfortunate accident involving a minibot and our storage room, we discovered another thing about it.

When you hit a certain level in your tanks and keep it at that-” Zephyr held their hand up, raising it to above their shoulder to demonstrate the level, “It reformats your tanks to not only hold more, but to store any unburned energon in deposits around a mech’s body.”

Optimus didn’t know what to make of that information. Zephyr seemed to be waiting for him to show some sort of reaction. He mulled over the thought of essentially  _ over-feeding _ Megatron to get him to submit, and it was… oddly appealing. A harmless solution was what he had wanted. Megatron didn’t seem injured, and honestly, it was simple enough that Optimus was amazed it seemed to be working.

“So… he’s addicted to your energon?” Optimus frowned lightly, though it was mostly because he was thinking so hard, “That’s it?”

“No… We’ll eventually release him to you, but first we want to get him large.” Zephyr purred low, optics dimming a moment before they chuckled, “The theory is the extra stored energon will weigh him down, and the addiction will make it impossible for him to concentrate on plans. If everything works out, he’ll be helpless, needing extra energon and being too heavy for his frame to do much damage.”

Not exactly the most sound theory that Optimus had ever heard, but they had definitely managed to actually  _ capture _ Megatron and  _ keep him _ . Not to mention avoid the watchful gaze of Shockwave and Soundwave as they searched for their leader. Starscream had taken over the Decepticons, which was definitely in Autobot favor, and the predicted outcome.

“Ah.” Zephyr turned his attention to the room below, “He’s waking. Would you care to watch a feeding while you’re here?”

Audiojack and Delta Gambit both pushed themselves off the wall at the same time, “We’re going to leave you two alone.” Delta Gambit said, “Optimus Prime, you have our frequency if you need us.” They left before Zephyr could actually initiate the energon flow, which really just seemed to amuse Zephyr. They murmured something about the feedings making their captains uncomfortable before flashing Optimus a fangy smile and turning on the flow.

 

\---

 

Optimus was surprised by a few things. Megatron’s reaction to the fact he was being fed was the biggest one. According to Zephyr’s explanation, Megatron was kept alone the entire time, which allowed less self control because there wasn’t the constant feeling of being watched. Though, even with that in mind, Optimus actually heard himself making a noise when Megatron all but lunged at the feeding tube when the flow started.

From there it was just pure fascination. Megatron was definitely far gone when it came to the addictive energon. He ate with eyes dimmed, leaning forward, belly pressing into his thighs. Not a single drop escaped by his lips, and Optimus watched as slowly, but steadily, Megatron’s belly expanded even further. It wasn’t much, but the purple of his protoform became more visible, and there even seemed to be a little pain involved by the way Megatron was furrowing his optic ridges.

Zephyr seemed to have the flow on a timer, though Optimus didn’t pay attention to how long it took. It was in the last five minutes, though, that Megatron seemed to be having trouble. He was too far away to be sure, but Optimus swore he could see condensation forming on his plates. Megatron’s hands were balled into fists, and right before the flow cut off, he seemed to arch and shudder, dentae clamping down onto the feeding tube and denting it slightly.

Zephyr wasn’t concerned, and he shut the flow off, picking the datapad out of his small, lower set of hands and tapping some notes onto it like Optimus wasn’t even there.

Megatron’s had slumped back against his chair, venting hard with optics dimmed. Optimus could actually see the  _ glow _ of the fuel in his belly through the parted, warped armor. Eventually, though, curiosity got the better of him and he cleared his vocalizer to get Zephyr’s attention, “He… ah… seemed fine until the end. Did something go wrong?”

Zephyr didn’t speak for a couple seconds, flipping through his notes, “Oh no. It’s another unforeseen side effect of the consumption of so much fuel. Not to worry.”

“Well what was it?” Optimus asked, optics still on Megatron, who looked like he was grinding his dentae.

“Apparently the sheer amount of fuel in his tanks is working to raise his charge.” Zephyr handed the datapad back to his vestigial hands and smirked at Optimus, “So what you just watched was an overload.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There it is, kids.


End file.
